<br><br><center>*She imagined she could taste the storm in him, the battering winds 
of desperation and frustration that met her own, blow for blow.*
― Alexandra Bracken</center>



<br><br><center>![rainy-sky-painting-28.jpg](https://cdn.steemitimages.com/DQmaDRMyCaF9Y3asp7u5EwhWbrUcQoEbmBWDH4F9VA5mQuL/rainy-sky-painting-28.jpg)</center>



<br><br> My obsession with Sylvia resulted in getting soaked to the skin in a rainstorm and my eagerness to please caused me to sprain my ankle in the haste to join her inside her condo building.

As if that wasn't bad enough, Sylvia took pity on me and brought me to her apartment, where she lit a fire, and gave me one of her bathrobes.

She told me I could put my wet clothes in the dryer. While I towelled off in the bathroom, she made us steaming mugs of tea.

<br><br> It was pathetic. I sat in her front room in her white hooded housecoat, my ankle propped up on a setae and wrapped in an ice pack.

But I gratefully sipped at the tea. “Mm, this is delicious,” I murmured.

“It’s rum tea—made with real rum,” she smiled. “How’s your ankle?”

“Much better,” I smiled back, thinking nothing could be better than being here with her by the fire—except, for wearing her housecoat, I suppose.

<br><br> “You know, I feel guilty for the way I’ve treated you, Jay. You’re really quite a pleasant man, but you must know I ‘m seeing Nicholas Randall the author. We’re in a serious relationship.”

I exhaled deeply. “You mean you see each other exclusively?”

“That’s right,” she answered brightly, “so you see, it wouldn’t be right to lead you on because I’m committed to Nicholas and he’s very committed to me.”

*Are you sure about that?* That’s what I wanted to say, but couldn’t. I stared at her lovely, trusting face and couldn’t hurt her—not the way Nicholas Randall did.

She made small talk to fill the vacuum between us.

<br><br> “So, you’re an actor, then—is that how you make your living?”

“It is, although I do other things such as paint and write.”

“Really? I’d like to see some samples of that.”

I opened the valise and showed her some watercolour sketches I made of the lake and boardwalk.

“These are lovely, Jay! The clouds and the water—you captured their very essence.”

<br><br> I could see she was genuinely impressed and it made me happy. If I couldn’t have her, at least she caught a glimpse of my soul.

We talked a little longer but I sensed she was tired and I didn’t want to overstay my welcome. The dryer had clicked off, so I stood up, tested my ankle and found I could walk on it.

I asked her to call me a cab and went into the bathroom to change, but when I returned Sylvia’s face was pale and tear-stained.

<br><br> “How could you, Jay?” she asked, holding up the 8x10 glossies.

“You went into my valise?” I croaked.

“It fell when I reached for the phone—the photos scattered on the floor. Such a nice way to be informed of Nicholas’ betrayal. When were you planning to show them to me—on your way out?”

“No, Sylvia. I was going to show them to you, at first—I carried them with me for days—but I changed my mind sitting here with you. I couldn’t hurt you in that way.”

“I think you should go, Jay.”

<br><br> I gathered up my photos and sketches and sadly walked to the door. “I really am sorry, Sylvia. I didn’t want him to hurt you.”

She was crouched in a fetal position on the floor, clinging to a pillow and rocking—her tear-stained face turned away from me.

I softly closed the door behind me.

I was still falling prey to all sorts of storms. Maybe I was under a water spell. Something was spoiling my dreams of Sylvia, making things turn out so badly.

<br><br><center>© 2020, John J Geddes. All rights reserved</center>

<br><br><center>[ Photo]( https://paintingvalley.com/rainy-sky-painting#rainy-sky-painting-28.jpg  ) </center>
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